Moving On!
by BostonSox-Fan
Summary: A crazy story written by a crazy author on a sugar high. I apologize ahead of time.
1. I apologize for this ahead of time

A/N: I apologize for this fic ahead of time. That, and I don't own these characters. Do you? They need a good home. Oh, what's that? J.K. Rowling already owns them? Oh. Moving on!

Harry sat silently contemplating—wait, I killed Harry off in my last fic. Let me start over.

…Ahem…

Ron sat silently contemplating—Ron, doesn't contemplate. That would hurt his brain. Let me start over.

…Cough…

Hermione sat silently contemplating the implications of the situation. Concordantly, visa vi, indubitably. Blah, blah, blah… lots of big words to make me seem smarter than I really am and to confuse you, the reader.

Anyways, back to the problem of the missing plot. Hermione was still sitting silently, contemplating the implications of the situation. _If I were a missing plot_, thought Hermione, _where would I be? Well, to be honest, I'm a character in the plot, so I really should know where it's gone off to. I mean, without the plot, I'll be stuck here in a constant snog-fest with Ron, making it all seem like a terrible porno or something. And although that sounds wonderful to some of you younger readers… Geez, am I still think-talking? I really can babble sometimes, even in my head… Granted, I am used to make something make sense in the story… So I guess I should be explaining the predicament to the reader… But noooo, here I am, think-babbling. Think-babbling? That sounds rather funny. Sort of like concordingly, or –_

It was here that the author cut off Hermione's think-babbling, simply because she couldn't take it anymore. That, and the fact that it's far too early in the morning to think of any other words that sound funny. Moving on!

Hermione left the room she shared with Ginny (here, the author puts in a suggestive wink) to go and find Ron. Because that's who she always went to go find, because in a normal romance fic, that's technically the only the person there. Everyone else seems to have magically vanished. Either that, or every single character from every book of the series is somehow packed into the Burrow, there to either push Hermione and Ron along into their whirlwind romance, or make fun of them. Hopefully, to make fun of them.

After the author realized she was babbling now, and had left Hermione mid-step on the stairs to the kitchen, she allows Hermione to continue. To fall. Down the stairs. Into Ron's arms. Because where else is there to fall, really? Unless you want a fic where Hermione is tragically hurt, and Ron has to pick up the pieces. Ew, nasty mental image. Moving on!

"Oh, Ron!" breathed Hermione, because she says that _a lot_. "Thanks for catching me! If I had fallen, you would've been left to pick up the pieces. Wow, that really _is_ a nasty mental image. Moving on!"

Suddenly, lyrics from Velvet Revolver's Fall to Pieces pop up, because this has magically become a song fic.

After the author had her little giggle over the song fics that she despises for some reason, she continues on with the pointless fic.

"Wow, I'm glad you're ok, Hermione. Hey, listen, would you like to go sit beside the lake that's appeared behind the Burrow so we can talk about our sudden realizations that we love each other because of your fall down the stairs? Or we could talk about the Chudley Cannons. Either one'd be great."

And so the pair set off for the lake, to sit beneath the humongous tree… humongous… that's kind of a funny word. Anyways. Hermione somehow ended up sitting between Ron's legs, leaning against his chest, and crying. Why is she crying, you ask? We don't know, we lost the plot.

"Shh, Hermione. It'll be alright. I mean, honestly, you don't really have to cry. I'm sure the plot will come back, and then we can live happily ever after. Unless it's one of those fics were one of us die and the other is left to mourn the loss for the rest of our lives. But still," Ron trailed off when he realized Hermione was staring at him oddly. "What?"

Suddenly, Hermione was upon him in the most passionate, earth-shattering kiss of their young adult lives. Because apparently, though neither of them has had an amazing amount of experience, they are experts. And after only a paragraph of descriptive kissing, they have sex. That's right. Right there under the tree. Why are they having sex, you ask? We're still not sure, the plot's on a vacation.

Two cups of tea later, the author notices that Ron and Hermione are still going at it under the tree. Upon checking the clock, she notices that they've been love-making for over twenty minutes. Impossible, you say? Not for the unrealistic author! They're in love, which makes up for lack of experience; hence, twenty minutes of love-making.

The author, however, gets incredibly bored of the beast with two backs, and breaks them apart. But only so they can have a fight over something incredibly trivial.

"Ron, you stepped on my hair when you got up! I never want to speak to you again, you git! Bollocks! Other English words that I'm throwing in for good measure so people don't realize I'm American!"

"Fine, you scarlet woman! More English words! Randy!" And they never spoke to each other again. Or at least for another five years, because things happen in increments of five.

…_Five years later…_

Hermione padded from her room in the flat she shared with Ginny (suggestive wink, part two), because she had still managed to stay friends with the fiery-haired woman without once running into her brother. How, you ask? Because the author said so. She took a sip of her tea (because that's all I'm allowing them to drink), looking up as her friend came out from her own room, too.

Ginny sat down next to Hermione, making herself a cup of tea. Hermione admired how wonderful Ginny had grown to look over the years. She was fragile, yet strong. Petite, yet somehow managed to have an incredibly huge rack. Thin, yet fat. Frail, yet unbreakable. Wholesome, yet a ho.

The two chatted about mundane things that had absolutely nothing to do with the plot that was slowly yet surely returning. They chatted about things like the weather (it was really sunny, until Hermione thought about Ron, and then it started to rain), Hermione's appearance (which had gone from awkward and frizzy-haired to buxom with long curls), and the twelve guys Ginny had managed to bang last night. Because she's a big old ho-bag in this fic.

Suddenly, Draco Malfoy rushed into the flat. Why, you ask? It's at this point the author gets excited, because she actually knows! It's because Draco Malfoy was one of the twelve guys Ginny had penciled in to her busy schedule! And he was there to profess his undying love for her, since the author killed Harry off in her last fic! And he had somehow managed to become one of the good guys at the last second, and everyone believed him!

It was at this point that Malfoy had started to rub his hands together and cackle evilly, which left a very confused Hermione and Ginny in the kitchen. "Um, Draco, you're doing that evil cackle thing again."

"Oh, yea. Sorry. Flashback. Moving on! CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Wait, no, wrong character. Let me start over." Draco took a deep breath, then continued on. "Hermione, I love you! I've always loved you, I've just been too bli—what? Oh, my bad. Ginny, I love you! Ignore that last part about Hermione!" It's at this point that Ginny realizes her overpowering love for Draco, and they go at it right there on the kitchen counter. Why, you ask? You should know not to ask by now.

These revelations of love made Hermione realize that she needed to get out of there and tell Ron how she really felt about him. That, and the fact that her best friend's foot as continuously hitting her arm as her and Draco went at it on the kitchen counter. Ew. Nasty mental image. Moving on!

Hermione apparated over to Ron's flat because, despite the fact that she hadn't been in contact with him for five years, she still knew where he lived. How, you ask? Because she'd been stalking him, that's how. Now stop asking questions in the middle of my fic.

Ron awoke with a start as Hermione apparated into his flat, jumping to his feet. He covered himself with a blanket, even though Hermione had already seen him naked, because he's just like that. Hermione stared at him for awhile, though, because he had somehow become a hulking muscular sex-god. How does she know he's a sex-god, you ask? Because he's got 'I'm a sex-god' tattooed across his now-muscular chest. Now shut up and let me finish!

"Hermione!" Ron yelped. "What're you doing here?"

"I've come to tell you that I love you! And that we need to have hours of mind-blowing sex on the kitchen counter, because that's what you do after you tell someone you love them!"

As tantalizing as that sounded to Ron, Lavender had just strutted out of his room. And at that moment, Hermione chose to ignore the fact that she was wearing only Ron's old Chudley Cannons T-shirt, and instead noticed the ring on her finger.

"You're married? What in the hell, Ron! You were supposed to be pining for me for the last five years, not getting it on with Lavender, the biggest bitch ever portrayed in fan fiction!"

"I'm actually pretty nice once you get to kno—" Lavender started, but was cut off as Hermione shot a spell at her, knocking her out the window or something like that. And she was never to be heard from again. She actually was pretty nice, you know.

"Wow, Hermione! That display of jealousy and strength has made me realize that I have been secretly pining for you for the last five years, even though I was happily married!" And they proceeded to have hours of mind-blowing sex on the kitchen counter. The end. Fin. It's over.

Flabbergasted! That's another funny word. Damn, should have put that in there. Anyways. Here is where I put in a shameless plug for a review (shameless plug), even though I wrote this on a sugar high (excuse for terrible fic). CONSTANT VIGILANCE!


	2. I apologize, again

A/N: I decided to write a second part to this fic, simply because I have some spare time. That, and sugar. Mmm… sugar… -stops drooling- P.S. I dedicate this fic to my anonymous no name reviewer! P.S.S. I own all of these cha—wait, I don't? You mean I seriously don't own one Harry Potter character? Ahem. Sorry. Moving on!

Hermione sat silently contemplating the implications of the situation. What situation, you ask? Why, the new situation, of course! We semi-found the plot, but we seem to have lost all traces of reality in the process! _If I were reality… wait… I had a similar conversation in my head in the last chapter, didn't I? Damn the irony. Irony. That's an element in stories, isn't it? There's some of that in he—OUCH! What?_

It was at this point that the author angrily asked for Hermione to continue on instead of think-babbling again, seeing as she had places to go later and wanted to be there on time. Hermione sheepishly kicked at the ground, poofs of smoke and an anime-like sweat drop appearing at her forehead before fading out. The author sighs, missing the good old days when Hermione would act normally. But therein lies the problem. No sense of reality! Geez, haven't you been paying attention at all? Moving on!

Hermione suddenly appeared in Ron's room, wearing only a skimpy top and skirt.

"What in the he—," the author began, only to be cut off by an even more hulking and muscular Ron. The author proceeded to huff, but allowed the story to continue so she could later get reviews.

Ron and Hermione started to go at it like bunnies, because that's what they've been doing since the last chapter ended.

…Well, come on. What else would they be doing? You know that's what you wanted them to be doing. But you, being who you are, wished for the author to go into descriptive detail. Naughty, naughty readers.

After this side-bar, the author notices that Hermione and Ron have actually stopped doing the nasty, and were sitting playing checkers, looking rather bored, dressed up in Batman and Robin costumes. You may be wondering who's Batman and who's Robin, but there's a more important question. That's right. Why are they playing checkers? Well, because reality is missing. Honestly. Moving on!

"INCONSISTENT VIGILANCE!" Shouted Mad-Eye Moody as he hobbled through the door, dressed up as, well, himself… because all the ideas popping up into the author's head are scaring her far too much… Moving on!

Why is Mad-Eye screaming inconsistent vigilance, you ask? Because reality is missing! Geez! Stop asking questions! I mean, how do you not know that by now? You seriously are one dumb mother f—

- We apologize for the inconvenience. BostonSox-Fan has been properly sedated, and will continue the story, but only if you send her reviews saying you want more. Moving on! -


	3. Lo siento

A/N: I re-dedicate this to my shrieking anonymous, naturally crazed fan type person. Here's to hoping people are around next time you screech! By the way, anonymous fan, I was wondering if you happened to know who owned these characters, because I was hoping that I could keep them. What? They're pre-owned characters? Pssh. I only deal in new characters. -Gives them to J.K. Rowling, seeing as she already owns them.-

Hermione sat silently contemplating the implications of the situation. Why does she always sit silently and contemplate the implications of the situation, you ask? Reply: She's done it the last two times, why not once more?

But I digress. Digress? -Author notes funny word.- The situation was incredibly serious this time. No funny business here… Well not yet, anyways. Moving on!

The situation is incredibly serious this time. Did I already say that, you say? … Shut up. We have a serious problem and you're being all giggly. Pull it together. There are song fics invading the semi-plotless, still-without-reality world of Harry Potter that the author has whipped together using sugar as glue!

Hermione sighed, obviously agitated by the author going off on a tangent… again. The author gives a little nod of her head, allowing Hermione to silently contemplate the implications of the situation. But as she went to go back into her classic 'thinking man' pose, Dumbledore rushed in. But isn't he dead, you ask? You seem to forget that reality doesn't really exist here. At least, as much reality that could exist in a world full of wizards and witches.

"Hermione, what're you doing? We've got a serious problem! Song fics have invaded, and I continue to do random things because of the words in a song!" Without warning, the aged (and supposedly deceased) wizard began a very unsavory strip tease. Why, you ask? Because the author has had more tea, that's why.

"Oh ehm eff gee (omfg, for you slower readers)," Hermione screeched, her hands flying to shield her innoc—wait… didn't she make passionate love on a kitchen counter a little while back? It is here that the author apologizes, allowing Hermione to cover her ho'ish eyes. "Professor, what in the Merlin, bloody, randy, bollocks… English words… is wrong with you?"

"Oops, I did it again," squeaked the Professor. Suddenly, italicized words started to float into view, the beat to Brittany Spears' song (Which the author notes she does not own. -Pleads- Please don't sue me Brittany! I know how much you read my fanfiction, and I don't want you to sue me over this? It's not that I'm a fan of yours, but it seemed rather appropriate for the situation?) … where was I? Oh, yes… floating audibly through the room.

_Oops, I did it again_

_I played something something_

_I don't know the words_

_And I'm too lazy to look them up…_

_Oops, I did it again._

"What the hell was that?" Hermione blurted out. "Are we supposed to ignore that or something? I mean, it is right in the middle of the story. And that music is really anno—," but Hermione was cut off, a different song and more lyrics floating into the air.

_AND IIIIII-E-IIIIII-E-IIIII… WILL ALWAYS… LOVE YOUUUUU-E-UUUUU-E-UUUU_

_(Disclaimer that magically appears in the song: BUT IIII-E-IIII-E-IIII… DO NOT… OWN THIIII-E-IIII-E-IIIISSSSSS…S)_

At that moment, Ron burst into the room, sweeping Hermione into his arms and kissing her as passionately as he had in the first chapter of this fic, only with a tad less love-making on the kitchen counter. Hermione managed to squirm her way out of his arms, gasping for breath and trying to swat the italic words out of the air.

After failing miserably at getting rid of the words, Hermione settled for stomping over to Whitney Houston, who had magically shown up in the corner, and silencing her with a quick charm. How is that possible, you ask? Because reality has completely vanished, that's how. And who doesn't love a good Whitney Houston song every now and again, I ask. (I leave it up to you to reply.)

Harry suddenly backed up into the room, hands on knees, shaking his behind the entire way. What is going on, you ask? Why, reality has apparently allowed Harry to come back from the author's last fic and booty-shake all the way into the room.

"Harry! You're alive! But… what are you doing?" Hermione queried, but her question was answered only seconds later.

_Back that ass up,_

_Show me what you're working with._

_Blah, blah, still don't know the lyrics._

"Oh… ehm… eff… gee… I can't take this anymore. As Hermione throttled her way past all of the Hogwarts students and to the top of the astronomy tower, the author realized that reality had slipped up once again, turning the story from an increment of five years later type thing to a back at Hogwarts type thing. But how could this happen, you ask? Reread that last sentence and you'll know… freakin' mor—It was here that the author noticed that she might be sedated and cut short again, so she kindly said… Moving on!

Noticing that once again that, she, the author, had left Hermione suspended mid-step on her way to the astronomy tower, she let her continue. To fall. Up the stairs. But this time, into no one's arms. Apparently, there is somewhere else to fall. And that, my friends, is on your face. And so it was.

Hermione, however, was determined to finish what she had started. Clutching her bloody nose, she set off to jump from the tower and end her misery in this never-ending debacle of a fic. But as she free-fell, she somehow ended up landing in the Department of Mysteries. Well… this was interesting.

The author notes that she is going to leave you all here for the moment, because she has things to do. However, she will pick this up when she has more time; and this time with a different spin, because it's just better that way. Debacle! That's kind of a funny word, too! … Oh, is this still in the story? … … … Moving on!


	4. Me perdona

A/N: I'm tired, and it's been an incredibly long week at school. So iff'n you're expecting an amazing fic, well… you'll get it. Oh, by the way, I heard these here characters were owned by J.K. Rowling.

Hermione sat silently contemplating the implications of the situation. _I just hazarded an attempt a jump from the astronomy tower, only to fall into the Department of Mysteries. Which, I might add, has a roof, so I find this rather strange. Hazarded. That's kind of a funny word. I'll have to remember that. Oh, bollocks. Now I'm think-babbling again. I really have to stop doing this._

It was at this point that the author jumped up and down for joy, noticing that she incorporated a British word into the think-babbling without making a big deal out of it. She then, however, notices that she just did point it out. Oh, the irony. Or the blatant attempt at humor. Your choice, my friends. Moving on!

Hermione rose to her feet, staring around. _A setting portal, that's what this has to be. I've read about these. Granted, the only book you ever catch me reading, or even hear referenced, is Hogwarts: A History. So how did I read about this, you ask? …Shut up and go away._

Suddenly Harry and Ron burst through the door, looking confused.

"This must be some kind of setting portal or something," murmured Ron, at which point Hermione promptly backhanded him. "Ouch! What was that for?"

"I am the one that's used to explain things! So you can just shut the hell up, git! Randy! Bollocks! Flabbergasted. Wait—what? That's not Briti--," it is here that the author cut her off, looking around nervously before continuing the story.

"Well, I think we should try and find a way out of here. Maybe we should go through the…What?" Harry queried, looking at his flummoxed friends. At flummoxed, the author giggles, but continues.

"Listen, Harry, you've been dead for most of this fic. I mean, you really only just came back in the end of the last one. I've been the one to move the semi-existent plot onwards, so… Not to be mean or anything, but I think I should handle it." Hermione said smugly.

Harry huffed in his frustration of not being the star anymore, but proceeded to follow Hermione and Ron through the door that _he_ was just about to suggest. They ended up in the room with the shroud thingy that consumed Sirius.

"I don't think we should be he—Sirius! What the hell?" Harry bellowed, staring as his godfather strolled out from behind the veil. When Sirius heard his name, he stopped in his tracks, turning to stare wide-eyed at the trio. "Sirius! I thought we'd lost you! How did you manage to come back from behind the veil? I'm sure you had to fight loads of people, valiantly clawing your way back towards life."

"Yea… Harry. I've been meaning to clue you in, but you know how things go. Well, anyways. In all honestly, I just needed a break from being the roguishly handsome escapee and godfather to a big old wanker. This is nothing but an old sheet, really. I just sort of fell through it, then hid behind some of the benches behind it when you came looking for me. Sorry, mate. You just whined so bloody much, though," Sirius stated as quickly as he could.

Harry stared in amazement. Had he honestly been such a big pain that year that Sirius had knowingly faked his own death and hid from Harry? Well… yea. Moving on!

After that exposition, Hermione ceased her huffing at not being able to explain that. I mean it was _obvious_. She could've explained it. Prick.

Ron had the sudden urge to make sweet, passionate love to Hermione right there on the stone floor of the Department of Mysteries. Her thought-swearing was turning him on. How does he know she's thought swearing, you ask? Because sometimes she speaks out loud when she thinks.

Ron commenced Operation Fuck-A-Doodle-Doo (A/N: Thank you, Shaun of the Dead. You changed my life. –sobs, then notes she does not, in fact, own Shaun of the Dead.-) right there on the Department floor. When the moment came to actually _commence_ his operation, however, he had a little problem. Ok, a big problem. That's right: erectile dysfunction. Why, you ask? Because the author just saw a commercial for the aforementioned problem, and laughed some. Not at those of you who have that problem though. Well… ok… maybe just a little bit. Moving on!

"Ronald!" Hermione gasped, shocked at the problem that she was now presented with. "Didn't you hear? You can cure those problems with," Hermione's voice dropped dramatically low, even though Harry and Sirius could still hear, and were surveying the scene with mild interest, "these." Hermione slid unnamed pills towards Ron, so the author won't get sued by some big broken-wiener company. Moving on!

Ron then began to cry, because he was overcome with the memories of the brain's assault on his body. Either that, or because he couldn't get it up. The author hadn't decided. WAIT! The author has decided. She has decided, to go and get another cup of tea!

The author shuffles from her room, and leaves all of the readers in suspense. Why is Ron crying? Why can't he be all that he can be? What in the hell is Sirius still doing in the Department of Mysteries? All of these questions, and more (or possibly less, depending on the author's mood), will be answered… in the next chapter! But until then, I bid you adieu. Hey, adieu's kind of a funny word. But it's French, and foreign languages are kind of funny to the author (even though she attempts Spanish). Unico is kind of funny to the author, as well, because it has always reminded her of the word eunuch because of the way it sounds. Hehehe… eunuch… Moving on!


	5. Forgive me, please

A/N: These characters aren't mine, silly. No es mio. Es de Senora Rowling. As you can tell, I've had a few crazy Spanish classes in the last few days… and I feel the need to impose it on all of you.

Hermione sat silently contemplating the implications of the situation. Why, you ask? Because she does so at the start of every chapter, if you haven't noticed. And if you haven't noticed, the author will take a break to chastise you.

… … …

Do you feel chastised yet? Good. Moving on!

Where was I? Oh, yes! Contemplating the situation. Wait! Hermione was, not me. I mean… y'all get that, right? I hope so. Just clarifying.

"Um… we sort of have to start the story now Sa—," the author gasps, clapping a hand over Hermione's mouth.

"How dare you! You almost said my name! That's it! You are not going to be used to explain anything in this chapter! You hear me? Nothing!" The author runs off in a huff, leaving a flabbergasted (A/N: Hehehe... flabbergasted…) Hermione to wonder what just happened. She scuffed about the Department of Mysteries, the others just standing around as well. What were they supposed to do without the author?

_Ten minutes later._

It was at this point that the author realized that she had left Jo's characters floating about in the Department of Mysteries without any of her zany guidance. It was also at this point that the author realized she could spell and use the word 'zany'. Moving on!

"Oh, honestly, Sa—," a smack silenced Hermione into submission, and the author prodded all of the characters into action to weave her semi-plot into a somewhat more sensible situation. But before said author could write her characters up something interesting to do, they were transported to America. Because honestly, where else is there to go? It's not like they ever go to China, or Russia. It's either America or England. Other places are just underappreciated, and rarely used.

After getting off on a tangent, the author allowed the semi-plot to continue. Harry looked around, before giggling with glee. _Finally!_ The inexplicably living boy think-cackled. _I get to be the one who handles things again! I get to explain what's going on, and decided where to go! I—_

"Let's go to the American Branch of the Ministry, they'll know what to do," said Sirius, walking off in the direction of the American Branch of the Ministry. How does he know where the American Branch of the Ministry is, you ask? Because there's a colossal sign that says 'American Branch of the Ministry this way' with an arrow pointing towards a big building with the title 'American Branch of the Ministry: A Refuge for the Mysteriously Transported English Wizard (And Revived Boy Who Lived Yet Can't Explain Anything)'.

Harry fell to his knees, hands outstretched and face twisted into an anguish-filled scream. He clutched at his scar, sobbing out to the others, "It's Voldemort! He's in there! That's not the Ministry! I think we should do something else! Like… go off on an adventure! Yea! That's it!"

"Shut up, Harry," Sirius snapped. "You're just mad because you don't get to direct the flow of the story anymore! We're going inside! Now get up and let's go!" Ron snickered under his breath at this, thinking that finally it was Harry who was being chastised for being an absolute moron, and not him.

Harry muttered under his breath as he rose and walked with the others towards the American Branch of the Ministry, words like 'stupid plan' and 'it won't work' floating around. The others, though they heard everything, chose to ignore it, much like they had when Harry heard the snake in second year. That's right, everyone could hear that damn snake. People just liked to pretend they didn't to see Harry freak out. People really can be cruel sometimes. Moving on!

The four wizards ("I'm a witch, you evi—," Hermione was subdued by the author once again.) entered the American Branch of the Ministry, only to be caught in Voldemort's trap. That's right. Harry was correct in his thinking that it was a trap. I mean, come on. A big sign? …Moving on!

The four wizards (Ok… three wizards and a b…witch.) put up a valiant fight, but were soon pinned into the corner by an immeasurable number of Death Eaters, because that's what always seems to happen in fan fics. They all went outside, however, when Lord Voldemort apparated into the room. How did Lord Voldemort know that they were going to be there? … He set the trap, and this story just twists and turns into Neverland. Not Neverland, like Michael Jackson Neverland. The other Neverland. The untainted Neverland. Moving on!

"Harry… Potter…," Voldemort hissed. "You… must come… and fight… me."

"Why are you hissing?" Harry yelled out to the Dark Lord, before turning to his friends, looking thoroughly confused. "Why is he hissing!" When met with similar looks and shrugs, Harry shook his head and stepped out from behind the large statue that had somehow popped up without the author's mention to face the monster.

"You guys get out of here; I'll take care of him." Harry yelled, seemingly forgetting that he had already died once facing Voldemort. His friends did not, however, and ran. Out the door. Into the crowd of Death Eaters that were waiting there. Oops. Guess Harry should've specified. Moving on!

The author gets wide-eyed, her unattractive trait of chewing her lip when she gets nervous surfacing. What was going to happen? How were Ron, Hermione, and Sirius going to get out of this one? Was Harry going to die, AGAIN? Why can't Hermione explain anything in this chapter? The author smacks any and all readers who wondered that question, telling them to reread. Shame on you! It is here that the author brazenly asks for reviews, and possibly hints at where her other story, Hiding, should go… because she has writers block. The only story she doesn't seem to have writers block on is this one… because honestly… there's no way to get stuck in this story… Anyways. Moving on!


	6. I am so sorry about this

A/N: As you can tell from parts 1-5, I don't own these characters. Why would you think it was any different this time?

Hermione sat silently contemplating the implications of the situation. Wait, you say. Weren't she, Ron and Sirius just in mortal peril in the last chapter? Well, yes. But the author doesn't want to explain her way out of that plot disaster. So, in short, they survived. And kicked some ass.

Harry, however, wasn't so lucky. That's right. He died. Again. At the hands of Voldemort. Only this time, the author allowed Voldemort to die as well, so she wouldn't have to deal with him again. But there was a new problem afoot!

Hermione couldn't remember who she was. Somehow, in all the confusion of the battle with the trillions (the number had escalated drastically since the reader hit the next chapter button) of Death Eaters, Hermione was hit with some sort of curse that erased any and all memories she possessed, and she had somehow ended up living with a man. A man, the author adds, who is gay. Because when Hermione loses her memory, she ends up living with a gay man who can support her and her children.

Her children, you ask? Why of course, the author replies! Because, as soon as her memory fades and she regains consciousness in this mysterious man's house, she is pregnant. How, you ask? Not by the gay man, if you were wondering. No, no. It must've been one of those countless love-making moments between her and Ron. But she didn't know that!

"Can I get you some tea, darling?" Asked the man, because tea was still the only drink the author would allow them. After Hermione nodded and was left alone once more, she checked up on her children (Twins, oddly enough. It's always twins.). They had flaming red hair, yet her brown eyes. They were lithe, yet managed to eat everything in sight. They looked retarded, but had her quick wit. Thin, yet fat. (A/N: I apologize for that reference to an earlier joke… But I just can't let it go.)

Just then, a freakishly tall and mind-blowingly built man burst into the room, his flaming red hair looking oddly familiar…

"Hermione! Finally I've found you! I've been looking for you for the millisecond between loading pages, and I have to tell you that I love you and I want to marry you and we can have lots of red-haired babies who look retarded but have your quick wit, and manage to eat everything in sight yet remain thin… yet fat," Ron coughed, rubbing his eyes as he stared at the cue cards the author held up with an impish grin. Shrugging it off, he continued. "Let's just get all of the little things out of the way, shall we? I'm Ron, we love each other, we're magical beings, and we love each other. I think that sums things up. Can we shag now?"

Comprehension seemed to dawn on Hermione. _Of course,_ she thought. _This must be the father of my children! Because, honestly, how many red-heads pop up in this story?_ Oh… was she in for a surprise…

After sorting out the whole 'we have children' thing, Ron had decided to take Hermione and his children back to the Burrow to meet his family. Hermione's gay roommate, which she had grown incredibly close to (in the few short seconds of loading time), told her that he was fine with her going off to reacquaint herself with her magical roots. Apparently, in fan fiction, all gay people were understanding and stereotypical (A/N: Pssh. Please.). Moving on!

When Hermione managed to tumble out of the Burrow's fire place, she was attacked by the entire family, being pulled in to fierce embraces and being asked where she was. She also suspected someone had pinched her ass, but wasn't too sure on who that was. Ron appeared moments later, carrying their children in his arms. The entire Weasley family instantly fell silent. They then proceeded to coo over the children that had been missing from their lives for far too many minutes, rounding on Hermione and asking what their names were.

"Oh, um… y'see, I apparently only had them a few minutes ago… and I didn't have much time to think about it… so… I named them #1 and #2," Hermione said. The entire family blinked, then shrugged and continued their cooing. It was then that Hermione noticed that the entire family had red hair. Uh oh. Now she wasn't so sure if Ron was the father of her children. I mean, honestly, she hadn't expected to see another red head, let alone a gaggle of them.

She decided she would stick with Ron, though, so she wouldn't stir up too much drama. Besides, he was tall and freakishly muscled from apparently just sitting around and eating all day. It wasn't that bad.

Hermione decided to leave her beloved minute-old children in the hands of complete and total strangers, to go and make passionate love to Ron. Because, let's be honest. She hasn't gotten laid in awhile. So, after their passionate love making, Hermione got pregnant again. Because these kids just weren't smart (A/N: Wrap it up, guys. Honestly.).

As they trotted down the stairs, Mrs. Weasley looked up and gasped. "You're pregnant, again! Honestly, don't you two know anything about protection? Welp, guess you'll have to get married as a quick solution. That, and so I can have a mini-breakdown about wedding plans and the like, being the worrying mom that I am."

Hermione wondered how Mrs. Weasley knew she was pregnant, until she felt Ron pluck a sign off her back that said: "A/N: Hermione's pregnant; react like understanding family." Hermione sighed, eyes narrowing as she stared at the author, who was innocently whistling in the corner. Wait, that's not right. The author can't whistle… Moving on!

After getting over her betrayal by the author, Hermione somehow found herself in a wedding gown and walking down the aisle on the arm of her father. How, you ask? Because the author wishes to hurry this along, as she's very tired and running low on tea. Moving on!

They got married, so on and so forth, happily ever after. Mrs. Weasley and Ron-Hermione shippers alike sobbed at the proceedings, so happy that the story had finally come to a close with a happy ending.

Or had it? Should this be continued? Should they live in bliss, reproducing like bunnies? Should Harry rise from the dead once again? What in the hell happened to Sirius? What's the author's true name? Should I leave you to guess my name, or break the mounting tension that I know is occurring in my ones and ones of fans? Should I continue to carry this story down the path of craziness and bizarreness? Is bizarreness even a word? All this, and maybe less, could be answered in the next chapter. It all depends on your reviews.


	7. Forgiveness?

A/N: I heard this wonderful rumor that I owned the rights to Harry Potter, but soon found out that I don't own them. It's alright though… J.K. can keep them and continue to write wonderful books. It's not like I'm jealous or anything.

Hermione sat silently contemplating the implications of the situation. What situation now, you ask? Why, naturally, it's the situation of the final chapter. For you see, the author has decided that seven chapters is definitely enough for a humor fic. Or, at least, it will be enough until summer comes and she can take a break from school. But that's besides the point. Or is it? Moving on!

Where was I? Oh, right. Situations, implications, contemplation. Semi-big words. Anyways, Hermione was in a conundrum. Conundrum, that's a funny word. I mean honestly, who uses conundrum in every day situations? Well, besides me. But I digress, once again.

Hermione glared at the author, whose mind seemed to be jetting off in a few different directions at one time. The problem that was bothering her most was that she was now married to Ron, with seven kids. Wait. Seven kids? At this point, Hermione had a mild panic attack.

"I have seven kids? I didn't even know I have seven kids? Are you sure? I mean, you could have me mixed up with so--," Hermione ranted, until the author held up her hand. It would all be explained to her (and the reader) by Crabbe and Goyle. Why Crabbe and Goyle, you ask? Because those poor nitwits don't get too many lines as it is. Why don't they get a chance, anyways? If the myriad of authors on this site gave them a chance to speak properly, the author is sure that they could string together a few sentences and sound rather intelligent. Oh… was she wrong.

"Well… you see, Hermione… when a bee loves a bird very much... they love each other. But not in the 'I love you' way… but in the 'I love you… on the nearest tabletop' way. And then they find out later that the bird has a tiny bird inside her. And then, only nine months later--," Crabbe blabbered on, Hermione looking mildly deranged. Her right eye was scrunched up, her mouth slightly agape, and her head tilted to the side. The only coherent thought she managed was, '_I don't think that bird's gestation periods are nine months_…' before she zoned back into consciousness.

"…and then the bee has to pay child-support, because the bird and the bee just don't feel that same passion." Goyle finished his sentence, both of the goons looking thoroughly pleased with themselves for explaining the child-like mechanics of life by using the 'birds and bees' analogy. Moving on!

"Well then. That was just… lovely… Goyle. And you as well, Crabbe. Um, I'm just going to… leave." And with that, she ran. Quickly.

As the author watches Hermione run off towards heaven knows where, she frowns. It seems that all of her inspiration has left her, along with Hermione. Now where does the story go from here? Does Hermione ever stop running? Do the readers learn where Goyle learned the word passion from? How did Hermione manage to have seven children without realizing it? Is Ron even the bee to her bird? Seriously, where did Sirius go? Does the author add any more words to her list of funny words? Is this story even continued? All of this, and even less, could be answered in the next chapter. If it's written. This all depends on your reviews, criticisms, and funny words.

Heinous. That's a funny word. Moving on!


	8. I'm sorry?

A/N: I got this idea when I read a Ron-Hermione fic that was incredibly sweet… and then I read it again, in three or four different fics. Honestly, go for creativity people! Or at least disguise the plagiarism better! Oh… yea… Harry Potter N' the like aren't mine. Moving on!

Hermione sat silently contemplating the implications of the situation. She had royally screwed things up with Ron, who she somehow managed to have a large number of children with (all of whom were named sequentially… hehe…). They had been enjoying a wonderful evening underneath a large oak tree, or some tree like that, because their children had actually decided to go to bed early. It was then that Hermione was struck with that horrible, horrible idea.

"Ron, do you think I'm pretty?"

"Not particularly, no."

She fought off a grin as she realized that Ron must know about this lovely little story thing as well, and played along, looking distraught.

"Do you want to be with me forever?"

"Nope," he said casually.

"Would you cry if I walked away?" She asked, hiding the happiness in her voice, because she knew what he would say when she got up to walk away. He would grab her arm and pull her back, explaining that he thought she was _beautiful_, that he _needed_ to be with her forever, and he would _die_ if she walked away. This was going to be wonderful! It would finally confirm that he wasn't just using her for a good shag, but truly loved her! But, it wasn't like Hermione was insecure or anything… I mean… Moving on!

"No."

She rose to her feet, walking as slowly as she could so he had enough time to reach out and grab her wrist. But instead, she managed to get almost the entire way back to their house. A bit confused, she turned back around to look at her husband, who was still splayed out beneath the tree.

"Ron!" she called back to him. "You screwed it up! This was supposed to be the part where you stop me and say all those beautiful things."

"What are you talking about? I thought you were leaving," he shouted back. "Damn crazy woman," He muttered, more to himself than anyone else. But, Hermione had the misfortune of very acute hearing, and caught his mumblings.

"We are done, Ronald Weasley! Done!" With a huff, she turned on her heels, damning that cute little story that usually works out. What was with this particular fic and her very confusing love life anyways?

Well that, my friends, is going to be left to another chapter! Or not! It all depends on your reviews. And yes, I know this one wasn't very good… but it was floating around in my head after I read a fic like that (that actually worked out, mind you) and it wouldn't go away. And seeing as this is the story where I put all my crazy ideas… I thought… hey, why not? You know what else I thought? Accordion is a funny word. Moving on!


	9. Are you going to forgive me yet?

A/N: I've finally figured out why my writing has been sort of … _eh_ … lately. I tried to give up tea! I've realized my mistake, and I apologize! I'm now drinking copious amounts of tea again, so fear not! Oh… by the way, I don't own Harry Potter.

Hermione sat silently contemplating the implications of the situation. Ron was retarded. Adorable, but absolutely retarded. After that little 'incident' with Ron, Hermione had fled the comfortable home she and Ron had established over the course of the last few chapters. Not truly knowing where to go, she decided to flee to her brother-like-but-still-incredibly-hot friend Harry's house.

But isn't Harry dead again, you ask? Reply: the author can't remember, and is far too lazy at this point to go back to her previous chapters and check! Moving on!

Hermione apparated into the living room of Harry's flat, and flung herself onto his shoulder, as he was conveniently waiting there for her with a rather large bottle of firewhiskey. Because honestly, that's the only drink the author could think of at the moment. Hermione began to sob uncontrollably, choking out the current situation to Harry.

"I know that already, Hermione. Why do you think I was sitting here waiting for you with firewhiskey?"

"But how did you already know?" A confused Hermione asked, while groping for a glass to fill to the brim with the alcoholic beverage.

"Are you kidding me? I'm Harry-fuckin'-Potter," he said, as if that answered her question. Hermione only raised her eyebrow, before shaking her head and taking a large swig from her full glass.

Only a few hours later, both Harry and Hermione were incredibly toasted. Harry was sprawled out on the couch, his left leg stretched over the top of his couch and his right arm hanging off the side of the couch, leaving him in a very awkward position. Hermione was stumbling around the room, still ranting about her problems with her love life.

"I mean, honestly, Harry! Is he that thick? I thought he loved me!" She yelled, most of her drink sloshing onto Harry's wall as she flung her arm forward to add emphasis. "It is kind of blatant how you're supposed to answer those questions! And Harry, I'm tired of contemplating the implications of the situation! Why are there so many bloody circumstances where we're in trouble!"

Hermione continued to babble on, though Harry was only half-listening. _She uses lots of big words when she's drunk. Maybe I should stop her tirade before my walls permanently smell of firewhiskey. Hey… tirade… that's kind of a funny word._ _Moving on! Hehehe… I just thought that._

"Herminnie… Hermy-one… Hermalone… Herm-own-ninny… Wow… your name is really long… Now I understand why Vixen couldn't say it," Harry slurred, before rolling off the couch with a loud thump.

Hermione spun about on her heel too quickly, and ended up falling onto the floor as well. "Vixen? Donner, Comet, Blitzen… Bugger, what are those other ones." Her face screwed up into a look of utter concentration, before she simply burst out laughing. "OH! Victor! I get it now." And with that, her vision faded into darkness, the now empty glass rolling from her hand.

Harry frowned, staring at his fallen friend. "Who's Victor? Nobody said anything about Victor." He finally passed out after that little comment, both oblivious to the fact that there was no point to that entire thing. Moving on!

Reviews, anyone? I hear they're delicious. You should try them! Especially here! Ok, so now that I've dropped my not-so-subtle hints, I leave you with a single question:

…Seriously, what are those other ones? Vixen… Donner… Comet… Blitzen… kljasdf;ljkasdf'in...


	10. I request your forgiveness!

A/N: Let's play a game of twenty questions. I'll go first! Is it a person? Yes… ok… Does she own the rights to Harry Potter? Yes! Ok… Me? No? J.K. Rowling? … Damn!

Hermione sat silently contemplating the implications of the situation. What situation is it this time, you ask? Well, there are many, many situations this time. Situation one: Hermione woke up after her night of drinking heavily with Harry-fuckin'-Potter, only to find that she had a lampshade on her head and was in her skivvies (A/N: hehehe… skivvies is a pretty funny word!), and she couldn't remember how she had gotten this way. Situation two: She just remembered how she had gotten this way.

_Flashba—_

"Woah there! I can explain what happened, you don't have to pull us back into the past. Geez. I said I just remembered, didn't I? I don't want you guys in my memories!" Hermione continued to mutter, leaving the author to inspect some old CD cases she had just found. A few minutes later, the author snapped back to attention, catching the end of Hermione's rant.

"…and that's when they made me their chief. Wait… Wrong story? My bad. Don't sue me!" After a face-palm by the author, the story continued.

_Flashback, for real this time_

"Who's Victor? Nobody said anything about Victor." Harry managed to pass out after that statement, leaving the author in a predicament. Two passed out characters, and nothing to do. After doodling on their faces with permanent marker (A/N: I couldn't restrain myself!), the author gasped in shock as loads of people from Hogwarts came streaming into the room. An impromptu party had broken out! And so had the word impromptu! Moving on!

Hermione woke up, drunkenly joining in on a halfway done karaoke song. With the wrong words. As the other singers continued to sing James Blunt's song, High, in freakishly high pitched voices, Hermione screeched out the words to Justin Timberlake's new song, Sexyback. She also started to do the robot as she sang. How can she do the robot if she's still incredibly drunk, you ask? What is 'the firewhiskey was just water with some red-hots thrown in', Alex? Harry should be awake then, too, you shout! He's a light-weight, the author notes. True, you conclude. Cheers, the author adds, because she just got back from England, and feels rather English at the moment. Moving on!

Recovering from the incredibly long conversation between the reader and the author, Hermione started to dance on a table, drinking actual firewhiskey this time. The song Whip It came on, and Hermione grabbed the nearest lampshade to use as a hat. Hence, the lampshade on her head. But then came her next predicament! With her vision marred by the lampshade (A/N: Marred, though a funny word, sounds frightening.), Hermione fell off the table, somehow losing all clothes but her skivvies. What, you didn't think she'd lost them in some type of drunken strip-tease, did you? Tsk, tsk.

The party broke up, because the author didn't have much else to write about it. If she thought of anything else, though, she'd bring it on back.

It was at this point that the author realized that she was still in flashback mode, and glanced about warily before hitting the fast forward. Moving on!

Ron burst through the door, holding a new baby. It had red hair, yet brown eyes. It looked retarded, yet was probably smart (A/N: Hermione has been drinking a lot lately, though… you never know.) Thin, yet fat. Hehehe.

"Hermione! I was worried about you! I haven't seen you for over two chapters, and I was panicky! And angry! Unreasonably angry! Must be the steroids," he added under his breath. "Moving on!"

"You need to come home with me, Hermione. Come back to the home we've built… you, me, and our thirteen children." Hermione blinked at this point, thinking back. She may have been drinking quite a bit, but she doesn't remember popping out a few more kids over the course of the last few chapters. Sighing, she looked over at Ron. "Ron, are you stealing children or something? Because I don't think I ha—"

"Shhh," Ron said, pushing a finger to her lips to silence her. His hand slipped, though, and he managed to shove a finger up her nose. After grabbing a tissue, swiping feverishly (A/N: Ehm, feverishly is ok…) at his finger, and shoving it up her now bloody nose, Ron grabbed Hermione and ran off to their house with their twelve children.

Woah, woah. Twelve? Didn't I just say thirteen? Herein lies the next dilemma: Ron forgot his own child when he ran off with Hermione. Uh oh.

And here is where the author will end this chapter, because she's tired and hasn't written in such a long time. But she'd appreciate some reviews, even though this was a horrible chapter. And she'd like to know… what happened to Sirius? For real, she forgot all about him. Do you guys know what happened to him?


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